


See Tomorrow

by fractualized



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Telltale Series (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Behavior, Heartbreak, Jarley - Freeform, M/M, Medical Conditions, Mental Health Issues, Obsessive Behavior, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:41:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26866831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fractualized/pseuds/fractualized
Summary: Joker understands that Bruce's betrayal has made their bond stronger than ever.
Relationships: John Doe/Bruce Wayne, Joker (DCU)/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 11
Kudos: 48





	See Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> You know this one's not fluff because it's the villain route!

Bruce's rejection only means that John is free. He falls, Harley's lipstick on his mouth and her hand locked in his, and when the water consumes him with icy teeth, the shock breaks his shackles. Dr. Leland's guidance, his own desperation, and Bruce's unbending rules, they're all gone.

He and Harley break the surface, gasping for air. The burning in his lungs fades to a twinge in his chest. It persists long after they pull themselves onto shore, but it's masked by the shadows of possibilities ahead.

* * *

The point, Harley says, is to forget, to burn bridges so you can never go back.

He sheds John and dons Joker easily, joyfully, but he isn't sure how the bridge to Bruce will burn. It's not made of a material that will disintegrate or break, and every taunt, every nostalgic target, every viral explosive, only makes Bruce feel closer. Yet Joker still feels awake, liberated. Maybe the betrayal was– _is_ the key. He and Bruce only met through darkness after all, as a result of an abused child's revenge. Isn't darkness their real link?

It's where Bruce's greatness comes from, too. His family's thieved wealth and status put him in the position to be Batman, and their downfall gave him the drive to take control of the world around him. 

Joker could be the focus of that drive.

Because control is a fool's errand in this noisy and chaotic world. He could remind Bruce of that, could do such terrible things, and Batman could stop him, punish him. Each time Joker demonstrates to the world how easy it is to snuff their flickering candlelights, Batman could show them that those teeny beacons are worth fighting for.

Joker couldn't care less which is the ultimate truth. It's the idea, the struggle, that makes him feel so alive that he can't sleep. Sometimes the beauty of it makes the twinge in his chest pulsate, blossom.

* * *

The counterpoint to the struggle is entropy, inevitability.

The rampage across Gotham has an endpoint: finding another survivor of the Lotus virus. The targeted attacks on Bruce have another endpoint: Bruce's death. That's what Joker and Harley agreed on, when he explained that Bruce betrayed them, that Bruce didn't believe him about the funhouse. Joker often thinks of that wary, judgmental stare, of the absence of trust, of the pledge to turn John in. Harley asked if Joker wanted Bruce to feel that same cold stab deep in his gut, and Joker wants it badly.

Even when he thinks of that beautiful potential, the perfection of two opposing sides working against each other yet with each other, creating balance, he knows that's not permanent either. If the chase goes on, if he and Bruce are committed to their goals, one of them will eventually kill the other.

It has to end somewhere, so Joker keeps working on the plan he made with Harley. He hunches over trap designs in the bowels of Axis, refining each vindictive detail. If other thoughts push forward and he finds himself sweating, trapped in a dizzy spell, he breathes through it and reminds himself that Bruce has made it clear that joining each other is not an option.

* * *

As much as Bruce had favored righteousness over John, in the end, Joker can't let Bruce go.

In the midst of the post-dinner brawl, the choice to abandon Harley in the funhouse and lure Bruce onto the outside track is laughably easy. But then, she shouldn't have trouble understanding putting your own priorities first.

The chill of the night sharpens the glow of the carnival lights, perfect for the denouement. Joker tells Bruce that he's figured it out, that they can be joined by violence as much as anything, that he's found freedom in their ties.

Bruce doesn't get it, of course, not yet. He's too innervated and only wants to close the curtain on this scene. Joker fights back with equal vigor, thrilling at every blow, even when Bruce slams him onto his back and straddles him. It's their own consummation.

Yet when Bruce pulls his fist back, the brutal kiss doesn't come. He sits there, trapped in restraint, mercy, more self-righteousness. It's perfect, it's them, it's a joke, it's hard for Joker to catch his breath to laugh. It's pain in his chest and blurring vision, then darkness.

Then it's light, electricity buzzing through him. Air drags painfully back into his lungs, and he can barely move other than coughing. Bruce is still on top of him, hands braced on a stunner over Joker's heart, expression showing only relief.

And oh, it makes sense, doesn't it? It's _Joker_ who Bruce can't cast aside, who Bruce pulled back from death, even after the murders of hundreds of civilians. Bruce says Joker's life still has worth, and all the earlier pleadings and apologies finally feel real, like he really cares. They had some good times, he agrees, with the weight of that ever-present sadness.

Bruce is stupid if he thinks that's all it will take to erase the past, that Joker even wants a different future. He deserves the icy knife staked in his side. The dismay that flashes in his eyes is hilarious.

Refusing forgiveness to someone who craves it is an unexpected form of power, one that will sustain their union. Only Joker has the off switch. It's buried with John.

* * *

"Takotsubo in a male, and this young?"

"Well, consider the history."

Joker opens his eyes. The bruised night sky is gone, replaced with the dingy concrete ceiling of Arkham's infirmary.

The first voice grunts. "Let's go ahead with the angio."

He tries to move and feels the familiar tug of restraints on his limbs. The sky outside the narrow caged windows edges on orange, and just a few lights are on inside. Joker closes his eyes and listens intently, finds the hum.

Dr. Leland shows up soon enough. She tries to talk to John, but Joker refuses to respond as anyone but his true self. She relents, and the pensive way she says his name tells him that she's figuring out where to start when their sessions begin again, already formulating a plan to pull him back from his experience on the outside. He's never been one-hundred–percent forthright with her, but he's been honest enough and he wants her to understand.

Well, as long as he's in here, anyway.

* * *

When he's deemed physically stable, he gets seven days in the solitary confinement wing, and then Dr. Leland has him moved to a proper room with strict supervision. He only leaves for the bathroom– even therapy is delivered to his door for now– but he's allowed requests. He's always been interested in his diagnoses, so he asks for a cardiology book. The library has one, probably thrown in the donation bin by a nurse or doc. It's more than fifteen years old but still in good shape from lack of use. In the index, "takotsubo cardiomyopathy" directs him to the entry for "stress-induced cardiomyopathy."

The body of the entry has the description, symptoms, effects, blah blah blah, but it doesn't bury the lede. Right in the header is all Joker needs to know:

_also known as broken heart syndrome..._

"You broke my heart, John," Bruce had claimed so strongly. Well, who's the one with medical proof?

* * *

A takotsubo is an octopus trap, and it's shaped the way Joker's heart is now. Dr. Leland shows him the x-ray and points out the abnormal bulge of the left ventricle. Joker thinks something is caught in there– not an octopus, but something else with tendrils that press along the interior, with suckers that keep the shards in place so they don't scrape into his lungs, diaphragm, esophagus.

It must be love still holding him together. He thinks it is. He's been wrong before. When Harley finally reciprocated his feelings, she threw everything into him, but it wasn't enough to push Bruce out of his mind. She could tell, and she encouraged Joker to destroy him, but she didn't know how bad it was. Bruce was there for every moment she and Joker shared, from the most domestic to the most carnal.

Joker barely thought about her now, when he'd finally learned to be himself.

Wasn't it Bruce who said that was the path to love?

"You need at least a month of rest," Dr. Leland says, "to recover. Then we'll work on stress management so it doesn't happen again."

Joker laughs. He has no use for denial. He embraces his broken heart, relishing how the jagged edges cut into his arms.

* * *

Someone on staff is either eliding the mandatory psych consults or has been bribed by an at-large henchman, because one morning Joker returns from the bathroom to find the Bruce doll in his top drawer.

Frank or Willy must be involved. While producing more virus at Axis, Joker had sent the duo to fetch a number of his things, including the doll from the Stacked Deck. They know it's important to him.

It's a delightful find. Bruce can be so reserved and stiff; it's almost like he's really in the room!

Two days later, Joker leans toward the rogue staff member theory when he finds another gift: a tube of red lipstick. He's a touch saddened because he can't wear it– orderlies would ask questions and toss his room and find the doll– but that's not the point. The lipstick is another signal. He has pals on the outside and inside, ready to help with the next plan.

The prospect of playing with Batman again so soon is exciting. When Joker's not plotting or rehearsing, he finds himself dancing with the doll, either around the room or just kicking his feet in bed.

He knows Batman will get a kick out of things, too. Joker can give him everything he needs: increasingly clever challenges, a rising number of victims to be avenged, the strain of their underlying personal drama.

To think of all the brooding!

Because Bruce will get the joke, not quite in the way that Joker does, but still. To fulfill his purpose, to give meaning to his pre-adolescent drama, Batman needs the Joker to oppose him.

Joker uncaps the lipstick. "Let's get you ready," he says to the doll, before smearing a blood-red smile onto its mouth.

They're going to have so much fun!

* * *

Two weeks into his recovery, Joker finishes his plan. Another week later, he unleashes it– after dinner, of course. Why miss the free meal?

He tells his helpers to make sure Dr. Leland is locked in her office, but he sees no need to coddle the rest of the staff. It's their job to manage the patients, isn't it? Maybe not all the patients at once in a happy-gas–induced frenzy, but life is about facing challenges.

Much of Arkham has been closed off for decades for various reasons: historical value, structural instability, incomplete renovations. Joker has always wanted to see the ballroom, which is connected to the mansion by a glass-enclosed corridor. He's delighted when he finds a wall switch that still lights up the grimy, web-covered chandelier that hangs at the level of the mezzanine. The light stretches through the windows to the surrounding veranda, which lets out into what used to be well-manicured gardens. Now there are just patches of brown grass and clusters of wild bushes, but no matter. Joker doesn't need a view.

He closes his eyes and crosses one arm over his chest. He conducts with the other as he waltzes alone around the octagonal room, with long graceful steps and dizzying spins. He imagines he's wearing his suit, pictures the replacement he'll assemble in the city.

He senses Batman as soon as the vigilante arrives, but he waits for the song in his head to finish. When he opens his eyes, he's stopped in the center of the parquet floor. Batman stands at the mouth of the corridor, in the stream of lines that Joker's slip-ons sketched in the dust.

"John."

Joker lowers his arms with a sigh. "You sure love talking to a dead man."

"You're standing right here," Bruce says surely and carefully. His voice modulator isn't on, and Joker appreciates that he's not hiding, even if he's denying.

"Everyone is back in their cells," Batman continues. "The staff is working on calming them. Your accomplices are restrained. I don't know what you were trying to achieve."

"You come running when there's trouble," Joker answers. "I don't have a giant light to put on the roof."

That square jaw clenches.

Joker holds his arms wide. "Wanna dance?" he taunts.

Bruce doesn't move. "You won't goad me into fighting you."

"Oh, did not enough people get hurt? What's the minimum?"

"We both know that too much exertion is dangerous for you."

"Gasp!" Joker slaps his hands over his mouth. "Have you been violating HIPAA?!" He giggles. "Though I suppose you'd feel obligated to check up on me, after that killing wound."

"I never wounded you," Batman says sharply. "You didn't take care of yourself for two weeks. You put your body in distress. I saved you."

"Saved me from your own cruelty."

"What are you talking about?"

"You read the file. Takotsubo cardiomyopathy, also known as..."

Bruce is quiet.

"So if I do expire," Joker goes on, "I really would be your first kill."

"That's not true."

"The doctors won't know, but you will."

"You're sick," Bruce snaps. "I didn't– It's not–"

" _I could never see tomorrow_ ," Joker sings as he starts dancing again, in slow circles, " _but I was never told about the sorrow…_ "

Bruce finally stalks over, but again he withholds that kiss. He grabs Joker by the shoulders. "You don't need to do any of this!" he growls.

Joker keeps swaying to the tune. "Oh, Batsy. If I don't, who else will?"

"This city has plenty of scum to deal with. You–"

Joker laughs, then echoes him in a deep voice. " _Scum._ Do it with the voice thingy!"

Leather-clad fingers dig in. "This isn't funny, John!"

Of course it is, and Bruce's unflagging denial just makes it all the funnier. Joker can't stop laughing even when Bruce's hands leave his shoulders to pull him close. Altruistic hugs, not psychiatric drugs, hm?

What a true joy it is to be with him again, up close and personal, snug in that stitch. So many good moments flash back: learning to throw the batarang, taking a selfie on the GCPD roof, bonding at the cafe, conspiring in the secret lab, hotwiring the car. As much as Joker's tried, he can't forget what he craves.

The cascade of laughter peters into a bubbly hum, the song starting up again. Joker opens his eyes when he realizes that his cheek rests on Bruce's shoulder, that Bruce is swaying with him, trying to soothe. Joker lifts his head and chuckles. Bruce manages to look so sad even with his eyes hidden by the cowl. His black glove cups Joker's white cheek.

"You got better before," Bruce says quietly. "You can do it again."

There's that sincerity again, jostling the shards in Joker's chest. Bruce looks afraid of losing Joker forever; he'd know better if he could feel the warm, curling tendrils in his atria and ventricles. An external reminder will have to do, a callback to how Bruce brought his love for Joker to light, so to speak.

With a coy smile, Joker leans in. Bruce's breath catches.

"You believe in me, buddy?" Joker asks as his hand slips under Batman's cape unnoticed, reaching for the stunner attached to the utility belt. "What changed?"  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> If you didn't recognize those two lines, [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UgAFcvIw8J4) is the song in Joker's head. Subtlety is my strong point.


End file.
